


A Firm and Steady Hand

by echoslam



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Consensual Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Spanking, orgasm from pain, spanking results in orgasm, unnamed dragonborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoslam/pseuds/echoslam
Summary: Much like picking locks and pilfering from pockets, disciplining the leadership of Skyrim’s Thieves Guild requires a very special touch.





	A Firm and Steady Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dudewheresmytea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewheresmytea/gifts).



> Happy Smut Swap! Hope I included enough spanking for you :D If you'd like a specific name for the Dragonborn, just let me know and I'll be happy to change it.

_Safe at last._

The Dragonborn breathed a sigh of relief as the city gate closed behind them. The familiar sights and sounds of Riften on a spring night greeted her like an old friend: the gentle glow of torchlight, the creaking of the wooden walkways, and a slight mist in the air. 

At her side, Farkas let out a grunt as he took in the scene with his own eyes.

“Place seems a lot shadier than Whiterun,” her follower commented offhandedly as they rounded the corner, heading in the direction of her residence.

“Nothing around here that’d give you any trouble, I’m sure.” Her tone was teasing but the truth was, she had plenty of misgivings about some unfinished business with a certain local organization. But then again, the Thieves Guild always preferred to keep things discreet. They wouldn’t dare confront her so near the city center. 

Or not.

She stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of Honeyside’s roof. A curl of smoke rose from the chimney, faint but noticeable against the night sky. 

Something was amiss. She was certain she had given her housecarl the week off. And besides, Iona never kept a fire lit when she was the only one at home.

She glanced to the side and exchanged a look with Farkas. 

“Forget what I just said. Get ready for a fight.” He nodded in understanding as he unsheathed his axe and readied his shield, no doubt pleased by this new development. 

The Dragonborn reached into her pocket as she approached the door. As expected, it was still locked. After first looking around for traps, she took her own key and slid it carefully into place before turning it in the lock. The door opened with only the smallest of creaks. 

“I’ve got your back,” said Farkas gruffly.

The two of them burst into the entryway, weapons drawn and magic at the ready. 

She’d been expecting a full company of mercenary thugs, if not a welcome committee consisting of her Thieves Guild colleagues, but her tidy home was entirely deserted. 

“False alarm.” Farkas sounded disappointed as he closed the door and put down his weapon. “Not sure how that got lit, though,” he said, looking over at the embers that were still burning merrily in the fireplace. 

“Probably just a prank by the neighborhood children,” the Dragonborn muttered, though a feeling of unease still plagued her. “Let’s do a quick sweep just to be safe.” Farkas simply nodded in affirmation as he followed her into the bedroom. Heeding her orders came naturally to him, and he was quick to obey. But there was no sign of the intruder, and even the door to the cellar was still firmly locked.

“Might as well take a break,” she said as they returned to the sitting area. Her follower let out a satisfied grunt as he plopped himself own in one of her chairs. 

She cast about the room one more time. Something still felt off...

Then suddenly her eyes caught it - a flicker of movement that seemed to slide through the shadows cast by the flame. Behind her, she heard a thud which she registered as Farkas’ body slumping to the floor. Now she really regretted giving Iona that vacation. 

She reached for her sword but was stopped by the dagger at her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she took in the sight of embossed leather armor, black as ebony. She should have figured that mere locks would not have been enough to keep out a Nightingale.

“Welcome home, lass.” It was a voice she’d recognize anywhere - rich and sweet as Black-Briar mead. Though she knew a cowl and mask covered his features, she could hear the teasing smirk in his tone. “Helped myself to one of your sweet rolls, earlier. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I see you suddenly have time for me, Brynjolf?" She tried to keep her voice light as her assailant took her sword from its sheath and threw it across the room. He walked around to face her, blade still pointed at her neck.

“I’ve always time to bring justice to those who’ve wronged us. You know what you’ve taken. Now give it back.”

The Dragonborn resisted the urge to immediately fight back - that dagger looked sharp - but the really, thought of giving up her Skeleton Key (or rather, Nocturnal’s Skeleton Key) was infuriating.

“Left side pocket,” she said, voice harsh with resignation. “I was just on my way to put it back, you know...” A lie, of course. It had seemed a terrible waste to leave such a useful tool lying idle in the Twilight Sepulcher. The Dragonborn thought forlornly of all the broken lockpicks that loomed in her future.

“Nice to see you being so cooperative.” Brynjolf sounded satisfied as he took his unarmed hand and fished out what he was looking for. It caught the light as he held it up for examination: a small device seemingly crafted from bronze and luminescent sea green glass that looked more like a fishing bauble than a Daedric artifact. “Well now, I’ll be taking my leave then...” He sheathed his dagger before placing the Key in his own pocket, and she saw that in his smugness, he did not seem to have noticed the muffled sound of her follower rousing himself. 

“Farkas, grab him!” she yelled as she nimbly leapt out of Brynjolf’s attack range. Her former colleague was a skilled fighter, but he hadn’t been prepared for the spell she had silently been casting during their exchange. The green sparks of the calming illusion hit him square in the chest, preventing him from so much as lifting a finger in resistance as Farkas grappled him from behind. 

“Thought I’d got him right behind the ear!” Brynjolf’s annoyance was obvious.

“They tell me I’ve got a hard head,” Farkas said simply. 

“Bet you must regret not killing him,” the Dragonborn said as she strode over and tore away his cowl. 

“You know I like to do things cleanly.” The spell didn’t affect his ability to speak, and Brynjolf seemed committed to putting up a brave front - he winked at her cockily after she took him by the hair and jerked his face up to look at her. “Now now, lass, there’s no need to lash out like this. Come back with me to the Flagon. Surely you must be tired of traveling around with a boor like this?” Such arrogance, she thought, thinking he could charm his way out of his punishment. She looked over at Farkas.

“Throw him on the bed.” Brynjolf was dragged over to the bedroom before being dumped unceremoniously onto her plush green coverlet.

The Dragonborn followed and took a seat on the mattress before going for his belt. Her fellow Nightingale had once complained about the “get up” they had been given, but she felt the armor suited him nicely. She relished stripping each and every piece from his firm, muscled form before arranging him on his knees, his backside facing the foot of the bed. 

“So much for trying to pull a fast one.” She gave him a satisfied smirk of her own as she toyed with the waistband on his clean white linen undergarments. A thrill of delight ran through her as she moved her hand under him and felt the bulge growing there. She yanked down the cloth of his underwear before tossing it aside and giving his backside an almost loving caress. 

“I’d say someone is due for a bit of discipline.” She clapped her hand on cleft of his cheeks, gentle, playful. But not for long. 

“Prepare yourself.” She struck him as hard as she could, relishing the “Oof” as he jolted at the sensation. She continued, raining fierce, deliberate blows onto that lovely behind. Brynjolf let out a moan and she couldn’t help but smile. Her magic was strong, and it kept him from moving as her hand sped up its motions, slapping him until her palms smarted too badly to continue. 

Not wanting the fun to end so soon, she stepped back, giving her aching hands a rest as she looked around for an alternative. The perfect solution presented itself almost immediately.

“Farkas, I need you to do something.” Her follower, who had been standing idle the whole time, transfixed, came over to her as commanded.

“What do you need?”

She pointed down at Brynjolf’s bowed form.

“Spank him. Hard.” 

Farkas balked for a moment before shrugging.

“If you say so.”

The Dragonborn had hit Brynjolf with everything she had, but she had figured she could only do so much compared to Farkas, who was twice her size and had hands larger than her dinner plates.

Brynjolf yowled like an sabrecat at the first heavy thwack, and the Dragonborn could practically feel the sting on her own skin. Farkas stopped and looked over to her, expression uncertain. She nodded her approval and as always, Farkas did as he was told. He slapped Brynjolf’s ass relentlessly, fingers spread wide, the thunderous blows echoing throughout the room. For his part, Brynjolf remained impressively stoic after the first strike. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying this. She took note of his fully hardened cock, swollen and red, curving up towards his stomach. The sight of it made her wet. 

Somehow, Brynjolf managed to make himself talk as Farkas’ slaps continued in their rhythmic pace. 

“Listen lad, you can stop that now,” he choked. “After all, I’m not the only one here who deserves a bit of punishment.”

“Huh?” Farkas paused his hand in the air mid-spank as he took a moment to consider his words. 

Brynjolf, nodded in her direction. Damn. Was her spell starting to wear off? She prepared to recast it, but stopped just a moment to take in what he was trying to say. 

“This one here, she’s a crafty one.” The Nightingale shot her an accusatory glare. “Lusty as Crassius Curio's Argonian maid and as insatiable as Queen Berenziah herself.”

“Just get to the point.” Farkas was never one to have patience for literary references. 

“I’ve only trespassed in order to take back something that was wrongfully taken. This woman...your employer...is a _thief_.” The Dragonborn couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Farkas simply stared. All irony was lost on him. 

As Brynjolf continued his speech, she turned and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. After all this, she needed a drink. 

“She’s taken some of the most sacred treasures in Skyrim and kept them all for herself.” Brynjolf gave them both a meaningful look as she turned back to face them, goblet in hand. She eyed him curiously as she took another sip.

“Take for example that rather ancient-looking battleaxe she’s got hidden down in the cellar.” 

The Dragonborn choked on her wine. 

Farkas rounded on her, eyes wide. “You took _Wuuthrad_?”

“Uh...well...” Of course she had. The legendary axe of the Companions she now had hanging on her weapon rack downstairs was one of the very first artifacts she’d stolen. With that ridiculous elf-slaying enchantment, she’d felt it would be far too dangerous (and valuable) to leave sitting in the entryway to Ysgramor's tomb. She was well aware that Farkas would take offense at the theft, but then she had never meant for him to find out.

"This one here's a wild one...real trouble, don't you think, lad? She deserves a bit of her own medicine, I'd say.” Brynjolf’s voice sounded earnest, indignant. 

Farkas’ face was all seriousness as he looked down at Brynjolf’s panting form. “You called me a boor,” he stated, matter-of-factly. “But I guess that's okay.” She barely caught the glare in her follower’s eyes as he lunged at her with a wolf’s ferocity, pinning her arms behind her and causing her goblet to fall and clatter on the floor. 

They struggled, but the Dragonborn, unprepared as she was, couldn’t fight off the full force of Farkas’s brute strength honed by years of carrying heavy armor. Brynjolf groggily dragged his naked body off the bed, her spell’s effect finally having worn off completely. Though she couldn’t get a good look, she was pleased to see the lurid redness on his ass from the walloping she and Farkas had given him. 

Farkas dragged her over and threw her onto the mattress in his place, trapping her limbs with his body weight as he held her down and awaited further instructions.

Brynjolf loomed over her, still half-hard, clearly reveling in his victory. She nearly gasped aloud when she saw what he held in his hand. He must have gotten it from the quiver she had left hanging on a nearby chair - one of her own dragonbone arrows. From the fine mist of toxin that fumed off the head, she immediately recognized this one as being tipped with a poison of paralysis. Though Brynjolf was not as adept a magic user as she, he was certainly resourceful. 

A taste of her own medicine indeed. 

It was not damage by the poison she feared - the effects of her concoctions were always only temporary. Rather, the looks the two of them were giving her made it obvious that they had...intentions. Brynjolf took the arrow and gave her shoulder the lightest scratch, barely breaking the skin.

The effect was immediate. Her arms and legs went rigid, and all desire to resist instantly evaporated. She lay there motionless and the two men eased off her armor, leaving her in nothing but the black, lacy undergarments she’d bought for herself when she and Farkas had stopped in Markarth. Her follower stood back, his strength no longer needed to subdue her, and she felt her mouth go dry as he began to remove his armor before unfastening his belt, revealing his own erection.

Brynjolf leaned down and put his lips next to her ear. “I suggest you pray to Stendarr for fortitude, lass. Shan’t be going easy on you.” If she’d been able to move, the sound of it would have made her tremble - whether with trepidation or arousal, she couldn’t be sure. With his hands he arranged her body in the position he himself had been placed, on her knees with ass pointed skyward. The poison’s effect rendered her completely vulnerable to his control, like a posable doll. He reached into her bedside table and rummaged around before pulling out her favorite hairbrush. The polished wood of the backing was thick and heavy, perfect for for taming her long, lustrous hair.

“This’ll do nicely.” He grinned at her as made his way towards her backside - though she strained to watch him, the paralysis made further movement impossible. She wanted to gasp when she felt Brynjolf fingering her folds, feeling how slick she was. Though she could not move she could still feel. 

“A beautiful sight, wouldn't you say?" Both he and Farkas chuckled appreciatively as Brynjolf pulled her legs higher and spread them wider, tearing away the lace of her undergarments and exposing her dripping core. He took a step back, and though her mind screamed at her to brace herself, her body was unable to comply. 

She felt the flatness of the brush snap hard against her most sensitive area, the force of the blow so strong it made her vision go blank. Brynjolf paused for a brief moment before striking again, half a dozen times in quick succession. Tears sprang to her eyes. It hurt - so, so much, but it was a blunted pain, not like the jagged cuts and burns of battle. She could get addicted to this feeling. As Brynjolf smacked the brush even harder against her pussy and cheeks alike, she found she started to crave the numbing shock of it, gradually anticipating the pain. She was sure there would be dark marks left on her dusky skin in the morning.

Brynjolf seemed to notice. He paused between strikes, using the back of the brush to spread the moisture all around before slapping her pussy again. She glanced to the side and saw Farkas jerking himself with his hand, his body clearly responding to her plight.

She came after Brynjolf gave her a strike so hard and loud it seemed to send a shockwave throughout her entire body. He struck her again and again as she shuddered, desperate and needy, her juices flowing freely down her thighs. 

Slowly she felt the sensation of control return to her limbs - the poison must have been a weak one - but then the overwhelming force of her orgasm overtook her and she crumbled onto the bed. 

They left her there a few moments, giving her room to breathe. She heard the tap of wood as Brynjolf set the hairbrush down.

"Are you alright, lass?" The Dragonborn looked up at them, now more or less in full control of her body again. If she wanted to she could retaliate against them now. Or perhaps...

Still trembling, she brought herself back to her original position and angled her hips upward in invitation. 

”Well, then..." Brynjolf eagerly clamored onto the bed and buried his large, thick cock into her with ease. She whimpered as his hips pounded against her abused core, the pain and pleasure mingling and leaving her breathless. 

Farkas stared at them a moment before moving to the head of bed. He seated himself before her, his own similarly impressive length out and ready. 

The Dragonborn took him in her mouth and exulted as she heard his strangled moan. She knew he'd wanted her for some time,ever since they'd begun adventuring together. Farkas collected himself quickly, though, fisting his hands in her hair and easing himself down her throat. He was going to make her pay for taking that axe.

The weight of all three of them strained the joints of her small, low bed, but she didn't care. Her body pulsed with lust and need for the two men inside her. Brynjolf brought her to orgasm a second time, both cock and fingers working her tender overstimulated folds. Meanwhile, she let Farkas plunder her mouth, taking him as deeply as she could. The sight of her had worked him up so much that he came as soon as he felt her moan at the sensation of Brynjolf finding his own release, flooding her with his cum. 

Afterward, the three of them lay there together, sweaty and panting, words and civilized communication long forgotten. 

Farkas was the first to move. 

He made room for himself between Brynjolf and the Dragonborn, kneeling and lifting his buttocks into the air. 

“What?” He said as he noted the perplexed looks on their faces. “I thought it was going to be my turn.”


End file.
